


The Bodyguard and the Mercenary

by Onehelluvapilot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Bodyguard, Caring Gwaine, Cuddling & Snuggling, Description of wounds, Gen, Hurt Lancelot, Injury, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Sick Fic, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15552570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Lancelot, bodyguard to the mayor's son Arthur, shows up bloody on the doorstep of the mercenary Gwaine's apartment. Patching up and cuddling ensues.





	The Bodyguard and the Mercenary

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I write Hurt Lancelot now. That's a thing I guess. I'm mostly annoyed that he didn't get more screen time in the show itself. Damn you, Santiago Cabrera. Why did you have to leave?

“Calm down, I’m coming,” I growled at the heavy pounding on my door. It didn’t let up until I had stalked over to my apartment’s entrance and ripped it open.

Lancelot stood outside, head bowed. I quickly took in the blood staining the right side of his button up shirt and interior of his arm, his too-pale skin, and the exhausted slump of his shoulders. Something had gone wrong, and badly. I’d warned him it would, but I decided not to be that guy that said “I told you so” when their friend was bleeding on their front porch. 

“Do I wanna know what happened?” I asked with a sigh instead, not really expecting an answer. Getting involved was probably a bad idea. I had problems enough of my own without getting tangled up in his, especially if it involved the Prince.  But it was Lance and he was in bad shape and I couldn’t imagine that I was anything other than his only option for help. He couldn't go to the hospital and he had no family and few enough friends and I cared for him as much as I cared for anyone or anyone except Merlin cared for him. I couldn’t turn him away. “Okay, come on in.” He stepped past me gingerly, and I locked the door behind him. “The bathroom is just to the right. Go have a seat; I need to grab a few things and I’ll be right in.” I sounded like a doctor reassuring a patient he hadn’t been forgotten. At least it wouldn’t take me half a bloody hour to follow up on my promise though. It frankly looked like Lancelot didn't have that long. He made his way slowly, leaning against my wall some of the time, to the bathroom while I went over to my kitchenette. I filled a glass with water and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the top cabinet before following him.

Lance was sitting on the seat of the toilet when I came in, struggling with the buttons on his shirt with stiff movements and fumbling fingers. Kneeling down beside him, I gently pulled his hands away from his bloodstained shirt and shoved the water glass into them instead.

“Drink,” I ordered as I took over. He downed the entire contents of the glass, only spilling a little of it over his half-bare chest despite how badly his hands were shaking, and then handed it back, with the addition of a few bloody fingerprints. He did the same when I refilled the glass with vodka. “Hold still now,” I instructed, pulling his shirt out of the way to examine the deep cut on the far right side of his stomach. It didn't seem to have hit anything critical, just muscle tissue, and had stopped bleeding. Through too much experience, I could identify it as a stab wound from a switchblade or straight knife of some sort. I could only hope to hell that it had been clean and that Lancelot had been immunized against tetanus. I had antibiotics, cached away after I didn't finish prescriptions as well as some pills of the not-for-human-consumption variety, which could hopefully handle a typical infection. They would have to. Since Uther had not only rolled back the Sanctuary City status six months ago but basically given ICE free reign of the city, Lancelot couldn't go to the hospital without risking deportation. All the previously safe clinics had been shut down too. There were no options for more advanced medical care than I could provide, so I had to make sure he didn't need it.

I pulled my well stocked first aid kit from beneath the sink, then sat down on the edge of the tub with my supplies at my feet and Lance in front of me. “This is gonna hurt,” I warned. “I have nosy neighbors though, and thin walls, so you're gonna have to keep it down.” As I was saying that, I thought of a better solution than just forcing him to completely muffle the sound of his pain. “Actually, just a sec.”

I went out to my stereo to turn on some music. The loudest stuff, death metal and the like, probably wouldn't put Lancelot at ease, and I didn't want him jumpy while I was trying to patch up the hole in his side. At the bottom of my stack of CDs I found an album of Joni Mitchell. That would work.

I went back to the bathroom as Carrie began to play on high volume. Lancelot had closed his eyes while I'd been gone, but he looked alert when he opened them again. Not going into shock then, or suffering too much from blood loss. It was a bit worrying though to realize that he had yet to say a word. He didn't talk as much as I did, but he wasn't mute.

“So what happened?” I asked as I opened up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured a little into a cloth. I was hoping to draw a reaction beyond a wince out of him, which was all I'd gotten so far. “Lemme guess; it had something to do with that bastard Arthur?”

“It wasn't his fault,” Lancelot finally spoke up. His voice was quiet and rougher than normal but more vehement. “I was just doing my job protecting him.”

“That doesn't mean he isn't a bastard,” I countered as I gently wiped the wound with the antiseptic soaked cloth, drawing a sharp gasp.

“He didn't ask to be the mayor's son,” he insisted when he'd regained his breath.

“Yeah, that's not why I think he's a bastard.” Everyone needed protecting sometimes, especially when their father was trying to be the next LaGuardia and had started by going after the mobs. He was a bastard because of how he treated his bodyguards, not because he needed them. And that wasn't even to mention his secretary Merlin. Poor kid was practically a servant, massively underpaid and undervalued both for his incredible technical skills, which he used for protecting Arthur and city government from cyber attacks and ransome-ware viruses, and for putting up with his selfish prick of a boss. 

“What did the Prince say when you got hurt?” I pressed. “Did he care? At all?” Because if he had, Lancelot wouldn't have turned up on my doorstep. Arthur should have fucking taken care of the man that had saved his life on several occasions, probably including this one.

“I didn't let him see.” I paused in threading my surgical needle with clean dental floss to look up at the injured bodyguard.

“Jesus Christ Lancelot why the hell not?” I barked. I softened my voice when he winced at my words, though I didn't let go of my vehemence. “If he's really a good man like you say, he would have offered to help. Hold still, I'm gonna start the stitches.” I drew less of a wince when I pushed the needle into his skin than I had with my words. He actually steadied his breathing, so his side would move less to make it easier for me. The self control of this man! I knew that stitches, especially  _ my _ stitches, hurt and he hadn't drunk enough vodka to dull the pain that much. I worked quickly in return and kept talking through it. “Arthur has a personal physician, y’know. Gaius. He patched me up after  _ I  _ got stabbed defending the Prince, and I wasn't even employed by him at the time. And let me tell you, he did a helluva lot better job than I'm doing here.” I tied off the dental floss of the last suture. They would hold, but they were wide and lopsided and extremely unprofessional.

“I couldn't risk Arthur insisting that I go to the hospital,” Lance explained. “He might've tried to protect me from his dad if the truth came out, but I didn't want to put him in that position.”

“Jesus. Lancelot, you noble bastard, why is your first thought always for other people?” Affection laced my voice. I gently pressed a bandage over the wound after wiping it with more antiseptic and cleaned up the first aid kit and bathroom.

“Do you want to borrow a clean shirt?” Lancelot's own was torn and bloody and I tossed it in the sink to soak the stains out of it, and while I wasn't opposed to him sitting around shirtless, a layer of covering would help to keep him from getting the bandage caught on anything and tearing it off by accident.  He nodded. “Okay, I'll be right back.”

I grabbed a mostly clean t-shirt, the softest and loosest one I owned, and took it back to him. Lancelot struggled to get it on by himself, but stubbornly did it without help. “I'm alright, really,” he protested gently when I offered. “I'm not completely incompetent.”

“I know you're not,” I agreed. Hell, I'd watched him dominate in fights that I would have been hesitant to start because of the shitty odds. Lancelot was nothing if not competent. That said, he clearly wasn't at his best right now. “C'mon, let's get you somewhere a little more comfortable.” I helped him stand up. He wasn't completely steady on his feet, and I wrapped an arm around his waist for support. 

“I'll be strong enough to move on in just an hour or so,” he said as we limped out of the bathroom. The amount of weight he was putting on the arm around my shoulders said otherwise.

“Do you have someone to look after you?” I asked, though I could already guess at the answer. He wouldn't have come to me if he had anyone else.

“No.”

“Then you're staying. This wound isn't something to be scoffed at, and I want to make sure you're okay. Wake you up every two hours and all that jazz.”

“That's for concussions,” he said, sounding amused. I set him down on the couch, right near the exit of the bathroom.

“Yeah, I know. The principle still stands though. You're staying.” Lancelot seemed pleased, despite his protests, as he relaxed against my lumpy couch. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No thank you. Just rest. I can sleep here.”

“That couch is a piece of three-time curb furniture with so many lumps that's you'd be better off sleeping on the floor. No, you can sleep in my bed.” I helped him back up and over to it, which was not a far walk in my studio apartment, and he sank down with no small degree of relief. It really was way softer than the couch.

“Where will you sleep?”

“Ah, I was planning on getting some work done tonight anyway.” I actually hadn't had a job in awhile.  With the crackdown on vice in the city, not many new bars were opening up in need of a bouncer, and helping Arthur out had stained my reputation as a trustworthy private security officer/mercenary. If I'd known who he was I never would have helped the Prince/prat.

“You, working?” Lancelot scoffed. Well, not scoffed, because he would never be that rude, but said disbelievingly. Which was justified. “Please, I don't want to put you out of your bed.”

“Well, if you're really worried about that, it's big enough for both of us. We can share, if you're comfortable with that.”

“Yeah, that sounds alright,” he agreed.

“Okay. I'm not quite ready to go to bed yet, but I'll join you when I am. Do you need anything else?”

“No thank you. I'm fine.” I filled a glass of water and left it on the bedside table next to him anyway.

“Alright. Tell me if you ever do.”

Lancelot nodded and lay down. I tried to figure out what I could do that wouldn't disturb him. Check email, see if any jobs had come in, maybe listen to podcasts with my headphones in. None of these options were very appealing, and in the end I just ate some leftover Chinese food, brushed my teeth, and joined Lance in bed.

 

I woke up to the sound of retching. Lancelot was gone from the bed. In the bathroom I found him kneeling in front of the toilet, clutching the rim. His shoulders were heaving, and he seemed to be struggling to breathe. I noticed when I flushed for him that he hadn't brought up anything but a bit of bile, and wondered when was the last time he had eaten anything. A bout of coughing hit, and I knelt down to steady him. His forehead was warm against my palm, and his head was heavy as he leaned into my touch. He was shaking and half limp as I scooped him up against me.

“Easy, I got ya,” I soothed as he trembled in my arms.

“I gotta go to work,” he protested, trying to struggle to his feet. He didn't get very far before collapsing weakly back to the linoleum. I wished I had a bathmat or something so he wasn't just sitting on the hard floor.

“No, you don’t. You aren’t going anywhere man, if you can’t even keep on your feet. I’ll call in and tell the Prince that you won’t be in today. You just need to take it easy for the next few days, or else you’re going to make it worse.”

“There’s a big mob trial going on right now. The Family is looking for retaliation against the mayor’s family. I can’t leave Arthur for too long.”

“You wouldn't be much use to him in your current state. If you’re really that worried about him, I’ll sub in for you,” I promised. The idea was distasteful, but I’d do it to give Lancelot a rest. “Let's get you back into bed, and get some food and medicine into you first though, alright?”

I hauled him to his feet and back to my bed. He lay down and I got him a glass of milk and a piece of toast. Easy on the stomach, and enough to clear away the bad taste I knew must be in his mouth. I got him some antibiotics too, from my cache, which I really hoped was enough to handle whatever bacteria had gotten into his system. He told me he was allergic to aspirin, so I gave him an ibuprofen for the fever and the pain. 

“Can I borrow your phone? I need to call Merlin.”

“Yeah, of course.” I had the secretary’s number memorized, and I typed it into one of my less secure burner phones before handing it over.

“Hey Merls,” Lancelot said after the computer wizard picked up. I listened in to the bodyguard’s half of the conversation. “Yeah, it's me. What're Arthur's plans for the day? Is there anything that can't be cancelled? I can't make it in today. No! You have a dirty mind my friend. I'm just staying at Gwaine’s place and using his phone ‘cause he patched me up after yesterday. Yeah, I, uh, wasn't careful enough. I got hurt. Arthur wouldn't have mentioned it. I didn't tell him. My status. Yeah, I know. Gracias amigo. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe a bit later. Yeah. Thanks. Bye.”

Lancelot handed me my phone back, and I put it on the bedside table next to him, in case he wanted to use it again. 

“Merlin is gonna keep Arthur in today, so you don't have to sub in for me,” he said as he sank back down into the bed. He patted the mattress next to him, clearly inviting me to join him under the covers.

He didn't have to ask twice, or once for that matter. I slid in next to him and he nestled back against me until his head was tucked under my chin. I was a mercenary. By all rights he shouldn’t have trusted me as far as he could throw me, and by that I meant throw me  _ today  _ not on one of his good days because those were wildly different distances, but now for some reason he had not only placed his life in my hands but was seeking comfort in my touch. His skin was hot, and his short curly hair was damp with sweat, but I didn't let that stop me from kissing the top of his head and holding him close.

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I like comments, so if you liked this please leave a comment.


End file.
